


Magic and Other Such Curses

by LozaMoza



Series: Moments [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, Complicated Relationships, Desire, F/M, Getting to Know Each Other, Lust, One Shot, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Has Feelings, because Geralt and Yennefer, not that she would admit it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:28:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25004686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LozaMoza/pseuds/LozaMoza
Summary: It's early in Geralt and Yennefer's relationship, 2 months in to be exact, and she reminds him about how he would show her how he uses magic.Of course, angst, confusion, and lust ensue.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Moments [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1806943
Comments: 18
Kudos: 47





	Magic and Other Such Curses

**Author's Note:**

> These two, I can only imagine what the first months of their relationship must have been like. They need a long time to grow, but at least they get there in the end!
> 
> This prompt is for Anon (Geralt teaching Yen about his magic) on my work Gossamer. Great idea!

She sat there, a warm breeze ghosting through her long, dark hair, and she watched him practice his swordsmanship. The day was hot, unusual for Vengerberg, so he practiced in only his trousers, which she didn’t mind in the least. In the two months he had stayed with her, the Witcher had put on weight, and the hard lean muscles that she had felt their first night in the ruined inn now had a layer of flesh over them. She craved the feel of it giving way to her fingers as they made love. His hair, once knotted and brittle, had become soft with her oils. He insisted on practicing daily, however, to keep his skills honed. She protested occasionally at that, but the truth was it did not bother her. She enjoyed watching him move.

Currently he was practicing his “witcher dance”, that ballet of pirouettes and slashes he worked daily on. He was fast, shockingly so, and the blade sliced through the air with precision. The blade was so sharp, his moves so fast, that she doubted the enemy would even feel the killing swipe.

He stopped, rested his sword against a table, and poured himself a jug of water. Drinking his fill, he poured the rest down his neck. Yennefer watched the small streams run down his front, following paths of scars and musculature, and she bit her lip.

“And what are you thinking about?” he laughed. She immediately tore herself away from her thoughts of running her tongue up those little streams, collecting the water droplets against his flesh.

“Nothing at all,” she replied, a bit flustered, her heart rate picking up. She hated how he did that to her. She, Yennefer of Vengerberg, was in control of her emotions, but he could throw her off her guard with a glance. He would look at her, the right side of his lip quirked just so, and she would momentarily forget what she was doing. She’d smile, occasionally pull him to her to make love, or hide her face to avoid that gaze that left her so exposed. She didn’t know this feeling. She didn’t want this feeling.

It was wholly inconvenient. And yet, she craved it.

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” he smirked. 

“Oh hush. I was watching you, if you must know. You promised me back in Rinde that you would explain your magic to me once. I was thinking about that.”

He chuckled at that. “Rinde,” he sighed “That was…”

“That was what, Witcher?” she stared at him, their eyes boring into the other’s.

“That was something, Yen.” 

There it was, that look. She turned immediately, trying to hide the flush in her cheeks.

He ran his hand up her arm and her skin felt like it would ignite with his touch. That day, she had chosen to wear a loose-fitting white shirt, nearly sheer to help with the heat, with her sleeves rolled up. She had tucked it into a gauzy dark grey skirt, and Geralt was running his fingers up and down the exposed skin of her forearm. 

“You want to see how I cast my signs?”

Her eyes were closed, enjoying the sensation of his calloused fingers along her smooth skin. “Yes,” she whispered.

He stood and grabbed her hand, pulling her to her feet. He placed her hand on his medallion. “Do you feel that? Do you feel its vibrations?” She did. The medallion was obviously a conduit of sorts. “This is how. It helps me focus any magical energies from the surrounding area to cast my signs.”

‘Do you draw them from Intersections, or can it pull directly from the force?” As a practitioner of magic herself, this piqued her interest. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Places to pull from the force, Geralt. Earth, air, fire, water...they are all sources to pull magic from. Some areas have deeper wellsprings than others; some areas of this world course with magic. These are Intersections. Does your medallion pull from these Intersections, or can it pull from anywhere?”

“I have never needed to look for an Intersection, so no, I do not think it does.” She held the medallion gingerly in one hand, careful not to pull too hard. She was close to him, her fingertips resting gently on his bare chest. His skin tingled with magic, she felt it thrumming within him like a steady drumbeat. It was obvious his body pulled it from the surrounding areas, but he did not notice it like a magician would. She imagined, given the right training, he could be a proficient mage. She felt him wrap his arm around her, his hand resting on the small of her back, his fingers drawing small circles against her flesh.

Yennefer smiled slightly. “Can you show me one of your signs?”

He reached out his hand, fingers outstretched, his middle finger slightly lower than the rest. Yennefer felt the medallion tremble in her hand as the air around him gathered. It reach some level of critical mass and pushed forward, blowing into the table with the water jug he had just drank from. The earthenware jug went flying, the table blew over with a force strong enough to to crack one of the legs. “That,” he said. “Is the sign _aard._ ” 

His medallion stopped vibrating, but his skin reverberated with magic. _It is a conduit_ , she thought. _It channels his innate magic into something more powerful._ She disentangled herself from him and went to pick up a piece of the broken jug. 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, walking up behind her. 

“For what?” she replied.

“I did not mean to break your jar. _Aard_ is useful in fighting, but it cannot be channeled into something localized like knocking the lid off a pot. I shall cover the cost to replace it for you.”

She looked at him with a small smirk. “Geralt, I asked you to show me a sign. Besides, I thought you would know this by now, but I _am_ a sorceress.” With that she lifted her hand slightly and the earthenware pieces rose in the air, re-configuring themselves as a whole. She flicked her hand and the table lifted as well, the leg reattaching to the table base. The jar slowly alighted back on the table, and she lowered her hand, smiling in triumph. She raised he brow at him.

Geralt was silent for a moment before he walked over to the table and picked up the jug. “My magic is only used in combat, offensive or defensive. I do not have the ability to fix or create...anything.” He seemed cold, detached, bitter. He sat the jug down carefully and turned back, walking into the house without looking at her. 

*******

She found him in her room, gathering his things into his saddlebags. Panic touched her.

“Where are you going?” she whispered softly.

He sighed. “I’m a witcher, Yennefer. Not a...,” he stopped for a moment. “Not whatever this is. I belong on the Path. I’ve dallied here long enough.”

Her bottom lip quivered. He was leaving. 

“So that’s it? You just leave? 2 months and nothing but a goodbye.”

“What do you expect me to say, Yennefer?” He was upset. “I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

“What do you mean ‘What you’re doing here?’ You’re here with me,“ she said, feeling her anger rise.

“With you? I’m no more with you than a fish is with a bird; than a dog is with his owner. I’m just some curiosity to you; something to satisfy your appetites until someone new catches your fancy.” He was yelling now.

Anger shot through her like a spear. Rage boiled in her veins, hot like liquid metal

“GET OUT!!!” she screamed. “GET OUT of my house! Go to your fucking Path if that’s all that matters to you. LEAVE. LEAVE NOW AND DAMN YOU TO HELL, WITCHER!!”

They stared at each other, the air heavy and thick with rage and hurt. Her breath caught. His hand twitched slightly.

They crashed into one another, desperate for a need to feel. Their hands grasped all over the other, their tongues tangled together while their teeth clashed. He was pulling up her skirts, ripping her lingerie in two with a fast pull; she fumbling with the laces of his trousers, trying desperately to free his throbbing erection. He lifted her and threw her onto the bed before he sank into her, her warmth enveloping him. They both cried out, and she flipped him over to sit astride him. She began to move and he groaned, grabbing at her hips. And it happened quickly for both of them, pleasure searing through their bodies like an explosion, their lust finally satiated. 

*******

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he gently weaved his fingers through her hair. They hadn’t spoken at all since their wild lust, preferring instead the company of each other’s bodies. 

“I’m sorry, too,” she sighed back. She leaned over to kiss him softly. Slowly, his eyes began to close and he slept. 

She could not sleep though. She could not understand any of this. The anger, the rage, the desperation for him. How could he make her so angry, yet the thought of him leaving would fill her with such fear that she thought she might be sick? She would never let him see how confused he made her, how filled with longing the very thought of him made her, and how terrified the idea of him leaving her left her. 

How utterly empty she would be without him. 

He could never see that.

She was Yennefer of Vengerberg. No one would know her that well.

No one. 

**Author's Note:**

> That Aard sign is actually what Geralt makes in the games. 
> 
> Have any more ideas? Let me know! These little ficlets are fun to write and good practice for me.
> 
> And as always, thank you for comments and kudos. I hope you enjoy. :)


End file.
